Raphael x Leonardo drabble set
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: Raphael wins a fight with his big brother and presses his advantage. Drabbles alternate POVs. Slash. ::complete::
1. Chapter 1

**Drabble: Can't Stop Myself**

by KC

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the turtles.

**Pairing**: Raphael/Leonardo

The fight was nearly over, he could feel it. He didn't remember what had triggered this one. They always fought. That's just how it was. Worse, he knew he was losing. He was already tired when they started and Raphael seemed to have found a new boost of energy, driving him back step by step until Leonardo was left blocking a flurry of punches. When he moved too slow to dodge a simple kick, he knew it was over. Raphael took advantage of his exhaustion and ducked low, sweeping his feet out from under him.

He landed hard on his back, the breath knocked out of him as Raphael landed on top and straddled his hips. Without leverage, Leonardo had no way of pushing his brother off. Afraid that his brother was in a rage, he started to sit up to fend him off, but he froze as Raphael grabbed the ends of his mask and yanked his head back.

That was new. Just like what Raphael was doing now. He gasped, his hand pausing in midair. The tongue on his throat stole his breath more completely than the fall had. Raphael's body pressed against his, holding him down securely. For a moment he met his brother's mocking eyes, and then Raphael forced his head even further back until all he could see was the ceiling.

"Relax, fearless leader," Raphael whispered around a grin. "I promise I won't hurt ya."

That did nothing to reassure Leonardo, and he lingered in a strange place between resistance and defeat, guilt and sin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Drabble: He Never Says No**

by KC

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the turtles.

**Pairing**: Raphael/Leonardo

You'd never know it from the way he acts when anyone else is around. In a fight or amongst family, he's still the fearless leader, favorite son, honorable and disciplined to a fault.

I shatter all of that when we're alone.

I know he feels me watching him all the time. The feeling only intensifies when everyone else leaves. He doesn't bother to make up excuses to go with them, doesn't hide behind the meditation excuses. He doesn't even try to practice in the dojo. He doesn't try to fight me. We both know I've already won.

By the time I step beside him on the bridge in the center of the lair, he's trembling. His grip tightens on the railing as I touch him, leaning up against his body. His breath hitches and I hear those sounds, those wonderful little noises from the back of his throat that mean he's lost.

Lost to me. Shredder, Karai, all the fights he's ever been in, no one ever broke him. But one late night and he was mine. I love reminding him of that.

You'd think he'd take the mask off. It makes such a convenient handle when I grab it and force his head to one side. My teeth graze his skin gently at first, then hard. I wouldn't leave a mark, I wouldn't humiliate him, but he winces and loses his grip. It's the only opening I need to force him down to his knees.

He lets me do anything. I haven't pushed as far as I could, as far as I've taken this in my imagination. Every night I push a little farther, drive him a little harder. I own him. And he never says no.


	3. Chapter 3

**Drabble: Beneath My Mask**

by KC

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the turtles.

**Pairing**: Raphael/Leonardo

I'm faster with a more exact technique. He's stronger. In practice, my shuriken always hit dead center of their targets. His shuriken always hit after mine and off-center, but they sink in deeper, a little clumsy but so effective. Now that I no longer fight, he holds me and bends me however he wants. I seem to fit into his grip and he takes every advantage.

He scares me. Me, who's never been afraid of anything before. At least not like this. I've disciplined myself to keep a hold of my feelings, to never let myself lose control. I've trained for years to keep myself focused, impassive even to my reflection. Somehow he breaks that control with a touch, a glance. It's hard enough to keep composed when I'm surrounded by family or enemies. It's impossible when we're alone.

If he hesitated or tried to be gentle, I could stop this. An ounce of regret in his eyes and I could push him away, tell him never again, and pretend none of this ever happened. But he never hesitates. He holds me with a demanding strength that says he can do whatever he likes. He looks at me with every confidence that he can make me do whatever he wants.

He hasn't told anyone. He doesn't stop looking but he never tries to touch me when anyone else is around. That's all that keeps me sane. I think he knows it. If anyone knew, I would break and I don't think I could put myself back together. So he keeps me teetering on the knife's edge of his pleasure, never allowed to fall and never allowed to escape.

He holds my wrists and yanks me up against his body, holding me still as he bites my throat. It hurts, but he never breaks skin and never leaves a mark. As he licks it to soothe the pain, I can't stop myself from shuddering. He doesn't laugh. It's his cue to let go of one hand, which I won't raise against him, and to grab the back of my neck.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "I won't hurt you."

His grip tightens until I wince. As he manhandles me to the ground, I find a blank spot on the wall to stare at, never looking away as he holds me down. Pinning my hands to the floor, he stares at me with his face only inches away. His breath burns my face. I believe him.

Because he's the only person who's ever looked beneath my mask.


	4. Chapter 4

Drabble: Catching His Breath

Raphael's POV

It's funny. Now that I watch him all the time, I see things that I didn't before. He's exhausted--from being so high strung, I think. He keeps himself under such tight control that the stress is tearing him apart. He even controls how he breathes, a steady rhythm even when he's fighting. Sometimes I'm surprised he didn't fall apart before I started this. Whatever this is.

It started out as a control thing. I was sick of him always calling the shots, always telling me how far we could go in a fight. Just once I wanted to control _him_, tell _him _how far it would go. It was just about control. And it felt good to pin him down and control everything he did. Better than even I expected.

He gave up utterly to me, and it only tasted better because I defeated him.

But I won't hurt him. I won't. I want him to fall to pieces in my hands. I want him to wince and whimper and struggle not to make a sound when I touch him. I want him to let me use him.

I mean it when I say I won't hurt him. I can't hurt him. I won't. I don't know if the others have noticed, but I don't snap at him like I used to. He's been acting like he could fall apart any minute now, and I don't want to break him by saying the wrong thing. No, breaking him's gotta be deliberate. Methodical. Too fast and he'll pull away in fear. Too slow, he'll take it as weakness and push me away.

When I break him down, when I touch him, it's when we're alone. That's for me, no one else. I want him around me, losing to me, unraveling in my hands, giving himself up to my control.

Press his wrist to the ground hard enough to bruise, and his control cracks. Straddle his waist, dig my knees into his sides, suddenly he can't breathe right anymore. The rhythm falters. Pull his mask back to expose his throat. The rhythm completely falls apart. His breath turns ragged.

I love biting him. I'd draw blood if I could. I think he'd let me. I swallow reflexively with the rush that thought gives me. I think he'd let me do anything to him when he's lost like this. I'm the only one who's ever done this to him. I'm the only one who could. When I force his head back even farther, so much that I hear him wince in pain, I know I'm the only reason he can let go even this much.

When I whisper I won't hurt him, his breath catches. Then I bite, and the shock gives him permission to breathe out again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Final Drabble: No Promises**

Leonardo's POV

My useless meditation falls apart at the sound of his footsteps. In my room lit by a single paper lantern, he sits down behind me without a word. Already my breath shudders and I close my eyes as his hand glides up my arm and settles on my shoulder, tightening in a show of control.

He grabs the ends of my mask and wraps them around his hand a few times, getting a good grip before he pulls my head back. The familiar bite, first of many, and then he's forcing me on my back. Never letting go of my mask, he moves on top of me, covering me and holding me in place.

Every night is different. He sets the pace, decides what happens and adjusts me to his comfort, not mine. He never tells me not to move. He commands not with his voice but with his hands. If he turns gentle, it's only to make the shock of the next painful twist that much sharper. If he releases me, it's only to bend me in a new direction.

I don't just let him use me. If I'm honest with myself, I'm using him as much as he uses me. Raphael is a lit candle I can't help but circle, burning myself as I draw near. He's the strength I wish I had. All I have to do is reach out and take it for myself.

Hesitating because I'm afraid his skin will sear me, I put my hand on his shoulder. The bite softens, the familiar lick to ease the pain, but he makes no other sign of noticing. Our world keeps going. With a deep breath, I pull him just a little closer.

He laughs once, low and teasing. "Was wondering if you'd ever respond."

I push him away, not enough to throw him off or even to arm's length. Just enough so that, for the first time since we started, I look into his eyes. They're confused.

"I promised I'd never hurt you," he reminds me, sounding as if I've accused him.

For the first time I answer, surprised by my half-smile. "I believe you. But I make no promises."

Slowly smiling, he cocks his head with another laugh. "Show me."

Challenge met. Our fight, our dance, starts again. Only this time something's different. There's no anger or edge, no sense of damning failure if I lose or sullen antagonism if I win. Something's broken in both of us, shattered to pieces by my brother's strength. And by my acceptance of his strength.

Strange. I don't even care if I win.

**end**


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